


7 Minutes, Twisted

by nameonalist



Category: Super Mario & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anxious Reader, Crushes, Intimidation, Mario is a sweetheart, Other, Reader-Insert, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, Trope Subversion/Inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-23 19:09:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20345227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameonalist/pseuds/nameonalist
Summary: Finding out about Princess Daisy's connection to the superstars of the Mushroom Kingdom leads you to a party that's supposed to bring you out of your shell. Thankfully, everyone has been as nice and inviting as you'd hoped... Except for the brute at the bar that keeps catching your attention.





	1. The Game Begins

**Author's Note:**

> [CHAPTER 2 COMES NEXT WEEK OR SOONER]
> 
> wooooooooooooooowowowowow there's isnt NEARLY enough wario self insert lmao. please enjoy this my fellow wariofuckers. if youre here to laugh at me in the comments hee hee hoo hoo youre so creative and superior. at least hes legal, you know?
> 
> mostly this came from me reminiscing on old hetalia 7mih fics and wondering how i could redo the concept in a more modern fic fashion. but, of course, i have to be all weird and fucky, so instead of a skinny anime boy you get wario. youre welcome. i tried my best to keep it gender neutral.
> 
> also, im aware that hes less goofy here than in canon... dont get me wrong, i love goofy wario to death, but serious/realistic (?) wario is such an awesome concept that isnt looked at a whole lot. and hot. don't @ me.
> 
> i currently have a 2nd chapter in the works! it doesnt get nsfw exactly, but if any of yall want a nsfw chapter after that, lemme know and ill try my hardest to whip one up without laughing my ass off. i mean, i love wario, but this is all so embarrassing...

The man in red in front of you has a sour and honestly pity-filled look on his face when he sees what you're holding. He turns his head to yell into that abyss of a room, the one that holds a contrasting celebration of nothing, shakily.

“Wario. We have your match.”

Wario? Isn't it Mario? Wasn't that _ this _guy's name? Of course, people having the same name is common, but what a strange pronunciation error to not notice. You're vaguely eyeing around the place to see if anyone shuffles at the name-call. A shadow at the bar moves, somehow darker than its background, and the Toad cleaning a shotglass looks up, disturbed. This person has been sitting there for a while. Great, a drunkard.

Mario is holding the item you picked and stares at it as if there’s something small on it he’s trying to read. You can't help but feel unnerved; this entire time, the pudgy man has been nothing but optimistic and understanding, and this sudden change in demeanor _ has _ to entail something bad. You feel a lump in your throat, and slowly the feeling that you should just call the game off intensifies. Even though you've only known Mario for a few hours, you know that he probably wouldn’t be the kind of guy to be a stickler for stupid rules— _ especially _rules for a boredom-induced round of Seven Minutes in Heaven. It’d probably be pretty easy to let him know how you feel, but a jolt in your bloodstream stops you from admitting it. 

You see him smile, and you remember. That large shadow of a man caught your attention when you entered the room. Although it remained unsocial to the crowd, it would always pull in the few people who walked to the bar into its orbit, that exuberant smile drawn across its face. You feared this pull—there was this dangerous aura to it—so you made every excuse possible to stay away from the bar. Yet, there was something about that “danger” about it that kept you wandering about the perimeter, hoping for answers to your paltry questions. Confused with the conundrum, you backtrack even further. How did it even come to this?

Oh, right.

* * *

You consider your hometown to be Sugar Village, a small snow-capped town just north of Sarasaland. Until you were about five, you lived a generic, happy life. That was, until your father was hired as some sort of monetary manager for the royal court. While your house and mother remained in Sugar Village, and you visited at the end of the day and over weekends, you practically grew up in the Sarasaland Palace. You even went to school there. His grand office had lines of books filled with legal junk across the walls, light oak finishings, orange accents, high ceilings, bright windows that nearly touched the hardwood floor… and when you got bored of all of this space and natural silence, you went to play with the young princess, Daisy. The two of you had been friends since the beginning of primary school, and she never acted like royalty around you. The behavior wasn’t even specific to this relationship; Daisy just never seemed to act like the prim and proper being her parents wanted her to be. Even so, she was your closest friend. Her parents considered you a “good influence” for her, even though you did everything _ but _keep her etiquette together. Even as the two of you had seperated—you moving back to Sugar Village, Daisy getting caught up in royalty business and kicking the asses of invading troops—your bond with her remained for decades over long-distance phone calls and impromptu visits from the princess. The most recent case of the latter was a week before this nonsense. This conversation happened after you walked through your condo’s front door, Daisy shuffling around in front of you.

“Oh, hey [y/n]! Sorry I barged in. Just got back from a tennis match and your place was closer, so I figured that I’d wash up here.”

“Tennis? Again? Couldn’t you just go back to your castle?”

“Ouch!” Daisy feigned, “I thought you wanted to see me! No, I’m kidding. But seriously, it was easier to drive all the way here than to Sarasaland. I play in the Mushroom Kingdom, you know.”

You had heard of that place before. Their pink princess and her odd boyfriend were always in the tabloid.

“With uh… the pink one?”  
  
“Do you live under a rock? Her name is Peach, and she’s probably, like, the most famous person in the world.” She rolled her eyes. “Actually… they’re all super famous. I can’t believe I never told you!”

And that’s when she explained her little rendezvous with the people of the Mushroom Kingdom. About the hero, Mario, her complicated status with his brother, the weird tall guy that wouldn’t stop hitting on her, Queen Rosalina and how very fine she was but also how very straight she was… you thought that maybe she’d go on for a few more minutes until she abruptly ended the tangent:

“So, I mean, I could talk about them for a while, but you’ll never really know them unless you meet them, right?”

You agreed, maybe a little too quickly.

“So why don’t we have a little get-together? Me, you, and the whole sporting crew… it’ll be a blast. C’mon, everyone’s practically a celebrity! It’ll be so much fun! How long has it been since you even _ went _to a party?”

You didn’t know.

“Hey, who knows, maybe one of the rich ones’ll fall for ya.”

After an hour or so of reluctant planning, you were assigned to this very place at this very moment. 

Well, maybe not this _ exact _place.

* * *

Your thoughts clear when you realize that the figure is now much closer, stumbling (yet in a sober way) toward you and Mario. He's _ tall, _ just all-around _ big _ , and as your brain connects the dots, your heartbeat quickens. Holy shit, _ that's _Wario? You become completely unaware of what expression you're putting out publicly, but by the way Mario murmurs that it’ll be alright and how you shouldn’t worry, it must be pretty bad. The room is buzzing with unrelated noises and conversations, yet you can't help feeling like you're in the nucleus of attention. The other players of the game are loosely circled up, but their attention and side-glances are solid. You quickly scan for Daisy for some last-minute help, but she’s wandered off to talk to some unfamiliar-looking royalty. 

Under the dim, warm light, the “winner” of the game stops in front of you. His bright, white teeth are clenched and his eyes are half lidded, thick eyebrows low, unimpressed. He holds some sort of syrupy liquor in a tumbler with a grip you swear could break the glass. He's a little greasy on the forehead, and his mustache is styled in the most bizarre fashion, but other than that, he’s actually quite decent in the presentation department. Not as bad as he could be, at least—the yellow t-shirt he wears under a black jean jacket is relatively crisp, and his hair looks as if it’s seen a comb at least once in the past 24 hours. He turns to the host.

“What the hell do you want, Mario?” he growls under a thick Italian accent.

Mario simply lifts up the winning item, a biker's glove, plum leather with no fingers, and plops it into one of Wario’s large hands. You look at the comparison of hands in front of you. Damn, they're _ huge. _You erase the thought before you have a chance to utter it out loud. The glove jogs a memory in the bigger man, obviously, as he devilishly smirks down at it, stuffing it haphazardly into a jacket pocket. Then he glares at you. It's not a malicious glare, though—it's one you'd rather not know the definition of.

“Ohhh!” he singsongs, taking a not very smooth glance along your body. “So I guess you're the new one right? Heh. Never seen you around before. Nice to meet you, I'm—”

“We know who you are, Wario,” Mario interrupts. You're almost scared by how bad the two’s chemistry is. “Please, just get this over with before you scare my guest away.”

“Damn, alright, alright,” he replies defensively. “Just introducing myself! Calm down, you fuckin’_ polpetto _ . We'll have enough time to introduce ourselves, anyways. Just thought I'd get it out of the way right now. You know, so we’d have time for more _ meaningful _conversation.” He’s grinning now, while Mario looks like he’s about to pop an artery. Wario looks right into your eyes and you see just how deep blue his are. To see him this close now... it frightens you. It also intrigues you, in some frightening way. 

“Uhm,” Wario stutters, looking around for something with his whole body. He holds up a finger and grins at you again. “Just let me put away my drink first.” In a few seconds, he’s shuffled back to the bar. 

You don't know what to feel, but Mario obviously does, as he finds your poker-faced eyes and sends you a look of determination… But you can’t really grasp what he thinks you think. He nods, and you notice his figure, clad in a red polo and white slacks, dash across the floor to Wario. A pit forms in your stomach. 

Mario puts a white-gloved hand on Wario's shoulder, and the latter genuinely seems to be listening, although he only looks at the counter. There's a little tension but no aggressiveness between them, and when Mario pats Wario on the back in departing, Wario looks up and nods. No fighting, but the pit doesn’t close. Your hands sweat again. You can’t have this get interrupted again.

They both walk over to you, Mario with his window-eyes full of pride and a hint of shock. You can't help but anticipate something quite boring. Wario is trailing behind him, and you can tell by his body language alone that he's a little ashamed; other than that, his beady irises tell nothing. 

“Ok,” Mario introduces, “Wario and I have come to an agreement. The light in the closet is going to be kept _ on _… And, of course, if you don’t want to do this at all, then you don’t have to.”

Wario stands a good distance from Mario, his posture as if his shoes have weights in them. It suddenly hits that he’s staring at you. Just by the slight raise of one of his eyebrows, you feel like he knows something you don’t want him to know, but you know you’re just being paranoid—after all, there’s absolutely no way he could know anything. Trying to avoid sending any accidental messages to him, you glance beside him and Mario. The other players sitting in the circle, some who you’ve noticed have been paired up in arguably more awkward ways, mumble to each other.

“It’s fine, I’ll do it.”

Mario obviously wants you to reconsider. “Are you sure?” he asks, concern flooding his face. Wario just smirks.

“Really! It wouldn’t be fair to everyone else.”

Mario simply nods, confused, but not without giving a stern look to Wario. The stouter one rolls his eyes quickly before looking back at you. Instead of a stare this time, though, it’s a more laughing sort of squint. He points to the door behind you.

“The closet’s right there, _ tesoro _.”

He has a beefy arm around your shoulders as you start walking to the closet. You're a part of him the minute he touches you.

“Remember! Lights _ on _,” Mario reminds nervously. Neither of you look back at him.


	2. Closing the Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! this is the last chapter for now unless you want actual nsfw (in which case i have a very loose draft). i dont really have much else to say other than this chapter aint that deep. mostly just fanservice for the weird niche of people that like wario-built men. but, despite its shallow content, i hope its enjoyable 💞

Wario closes the door behind you, warm light from the party sliding out. Your heart feels like it’s playing an old, clanky game of pinball._ Bipbipbipbipbip _, it goes.

“So.” He says it with a hard period. _ Bipbipbipbipbipbipbip. _

“Wario, yeah?” you manage to ask. He laughs a little and you feel ashamed, but with how low it is compared to his rowdy conversations at the bar, it becomes charming in distant comparison.

“Yeah, that’s the name. You? I don’t wanna be smoochin’ up all over ya and not even know who I was smoochin.”

You consider turning the lights off purely to hide the definite blush you feel bloom on your face.

“[Y/N],” you finally mutter.

“[Y/N]!” he repeats, suddenly too loud for the closet. “Such a beautiful name for a beautiful person.”   
His hands are on your hips now. You're afraid your eyes might pop if you look at how close his face is to yours—it’d be too much to handle. Wario's eyelids lower, as well as his voice.

“You're so rude. You know that, right?” he teases, trying to catch your eyes. “You were lookin’ at me from across the room all night ‘n’ never had the manners to talk to me.” 

He got it exactly right.

“If I didn't think you're attractive, I'd think you were some kinda weirdo,” he adds a few seconds later. “Not that you're not.”

“I'm shy” is the only excuse you can manage.

“Bah,” Wario exhales, “you weren't shy when you agreed to get in a closet with me, now were you? That's a bit forward.”

“That’s just how the game works.”

“I'd believe that if you hadn't been checking me out since you walked through the door.”

You give out an exasperated breath. There are no more excuses.

“How many minutes we got left?” he asks no one in particular. It's a little too loud for the small capacity of this room, but he doesn't seem to care. For a few moments, he looks around as if it's normal for someone to put a clock in a closet. A distant, unknown voice yells “five” from behind the door.

“You still too shy to do anything else?” He has his bare hand on your chin now.

Anything else could mean, well, _ anything. _ But you simply don’t have time to ask for specifics. The pinball in your system keeps ricocheting, bumping your feelings around, it takes real force to keep your muscles from shaking visibly, _ bipbipbipbipbip _. This handsome guy right in front of you, and he knows you've had an eye on him, and he's admitted to thinking you're attractive. Nothing has ever gone this smoothly for you, especially this fast. Too fast. 

But if the game was going to be fast, then that's how you were going to play it. 

You take Wario by the chin, pulling him in and letting yourselves join by the lips. He groans in approval, moving his arms to completely wrap you—it has a suffocating feel to it, yet it’s oddly comforting. Strong cologne, obviously there to hide some other smell, but still vaguely welcome, passes onto you the minute you latch onto him. Kissing him isn’t nearly as gross as you have once been convinced it to be; he isn't shoving his tongue into your mouth or otherwise overstaying his welcome. It’s actually quite a normal, soft lip lock. The faint sting of spiced rum from his breath is, well, intoxicating. The two of your stay in that embrace for awhile until he breaks it off himself. A man who likes control, to be in charge… it might be a tad problematic, but right now, it's what you need. 

“I take that as a no.”

“You're correct,” you breathe, and before you know it, he's down at your neck, skimming the skin with his lips a bit.

“Is this alright?” Wario barely gets out, and your mind can’t agree quicker, but your mouth runs out a small “Stop.” He does so. You feel this is a guy who can get easily frustrated with indecisive people, so you decide not to go back on your words. You explain falsely: “I just… not _ this _fast.”

“You're a picky one,” he mutters, although he has the devil in his pearly white smile, so you're sure it's not actually much of a problem for him. 

“Still need to warm up, eh?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you nod. He leans back in for another mouth kiss, except this time it's a bit harsher, and he's grabbed onto the back of your head. You reciprocate immediately, moaning into it out of pure surprise. Something about the stubble keeps you entertained. Something about the way he holds you roughly yet handles you like you're fragile fucks you up in more ways than one. His fat stomach is pressed against you, his strong arms wrapped around your hips… your head is spinning, and the room is blurry, and his eyes keep secrets, but you don't want him to stop. Any sane person would, but you simply weren't sane. He grabs your ass and you don't care that it's crude; you've been fantasizing about him doing that from the moment you saw him.

“This is okay?” he asks low, into your ear, and you're too frozen to respond. Everything is hot and rushing. 

“I don’t think you’re ugly,” you murmur. Wario steps back a bit, his hand that was previously on your ass now on the small of your back. He waits for an explanation like last time, but he doesn’t receive one.

“Well, uh, duh.”

“No, no… I mean… I was going to go over to you.”

Wario just stands there, bewildered.

“When you said I didn’t have any manners to go over to you… I was going to. But I didn’t know how to approach you, so I asked my friend… And she said to me that you’re no good, asking why I’d be so desperate as to go for such an ugly guy anyways. But that’s not what it is. I don’t think you’re ugly. You’re attractive to me.”

Wario’s just squinting at you, eyebrows knotted. If you had to guess what he’s feeling, you’re sure you’d get it wrong—it’s like stumped, offended, and flattered all in the same emotion. 

“You know,” he starts, “guess I coulda… went over to you… also…”

Unable to really catch what he means, you guess that feelings are a rare conversation topic for him. Instead of elaborating, he pulls you into some sort of awkward hug, staring at the floor then directly at you as some sort of switch flips in him. He maintains his snively grin. 

“Just be glad you gotta chance to meet the only hunk here,” he says, oddly soft, putting his hands back on your hips. “Otherwise _ scuchare _ like you wouldn'ta had the chance.” He kisses you again, and it’s deep.

Mario’s permanently chipper voice booms with wavering anxiety from the other side of the door.

“Time’s up!” 

The reintroduced light shocks your eyes, although they’re closed. You finish the kiss abruptly and open them, looking to the audience gaping before you. Some people outside of the game have stopped in curiosity. You fear the worst. The worst has happened. Daisy stands there, bewildered. 

“Well!” Mario breathes. “That was! Hm. Well. I hope you had… fun.”

Before you get the chance to make some excuse, Wario locks your arm with his, waltzing right past the host with a firm jab to his arm.

“Forget about’em, ok?” he insists, as you both approach the exit. “Just for tonight.”

All of the eyes follow the both of you, but you don't look back. You nod, and with a hard clank, the door closes out your guilt.


End file.
